


Phases

by tklivory



Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition - Cullrian [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Non-Consensual, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-10-17 13:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20621486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory
Summary: What happens when the fix-it doesn't work out the way you intended? Dorian Pavus finds out the hard way when an attempt to save the world costs him everything.This work is mainly experimental storytelling for me: mostly prose with short chapters. I initially wrote if for the Cullrian Discord I participate in (The Herald's Rest, check it out!) but I decided to put it here, too. It is meant to be dark and angsty, and by the Maker, I deliver on the angst. It's almost finished, so I'll be publishing a chapter every few days.





	1. Phase 1: Hunger

_It started with a fall._

Dorian fell into Cullen's arms when he arrived at Haven, finding in the man's arms the precise description of the town itself. Fleeing towards the Inquisition after the Venatori had descended upon Redcliffe had been an act of sheer faith--not a commonplace occurrence at all.

His faith was rewarded with a hectic run through snow-covered mountains, their survival dependent on the haphazard collection of supplies which had somehow made it out of Haven. Each step was taken with a glance over the shoulder, wondering when the Elder One would pursue them, or if instead the Inquisitor would appear miraculously from the destruction of Haven.

When neither appeared, the despair truly set in.

Over the course of the next few weeks as what remained of the Inquisition struggled through the mountains, it shrank. Doubt caused attrition through desertion, and without the one who had led them to victory at the Breach, even Cassandra and Leliana, the Hands of the Divine, could not keep the momentum of the Inquisition going. When the Chargers left, Dorian knew it was over. If the Qunari wasn't interested enough to keep a spy in their midst, then that meant the Inquisition was truly finished.

Yet Dorian remained one of the stubborn ones, staying with the core of the Inquisition even as the numbers dwindled. When they found an old, rundown ruin on the top of a mountain after weeks of searching, he hunkered down with them as they desperately tried to make sense of a world increasingly going mad.

But then, where else did he have to go? He had no home, no family--his own father had told him that. So this was it, for him. The last chance.

Over time, the struggle to survive made for strange bedfellows. A chess game played to strive for a sense of normalcy turned into a small haven of its own, and soon he noticed the way Cullen's fingers lingered on his as they set up the pieces for the games. Soon the touches and glances moved on to more, until the chess games were moved to Cullen's office, and then became a pretext for them to dawdle in Cullen's bed.

But around them the world continued to fall. The rifts grew larger, the demons more widespread, and the Venatori more and more bold. Ferelden and Orlais, it seemed, could not be called upon to save the world, but only lament its downfall.

So Dorian took up his mentor's obsession. He returned to the rubble of Redcliffe in secret, digging through the debris until he found a glowing white amulet. In secret, he slaved at his task, as the hollows in Cullen's cheeks grew and the smiles faded entirely from Skyhold. Laughter became hard-earned and even more precious than gold, and the moments they found in each other's arms became their only solace as the winter closed in around them.

As time passed, Dorian's fingers ached with magic as the fat in his body melted away and left him with only lean, hard muscle. Cullen's ferocity in his weapons practice hardened him as well, though more worrying still was the faint scent of lyrium Dorian caught every once in a while on his clothes.

Cullen expressed his worry towards Dorian by trying to give Dorian his own meals, and Dorian made sure to hold his store of lyrium all the more tightly to keep it from Cullen's grasp. They fought, but the arguments always ended when they realized tomorrow could always be their last. Yet the heat between them in bed and on the table became intertwined with and tempered by a desperate worry as each man tried to figure out why the other slowly withered as time went on.

As the world grew worse, the population within the ruin they called Skyhold grew, full of refugees who had managed to escape from the madness of the Venatori and the war between the mages and the Templars which still raged in the plains below.

Until, one day, Dorian found the answer.

He kept Cullen in bed for two full days after that, breaking only as their bodies necessitated it, ignoring the man's pleas to tell him what was wrong, until finally he cast a sleep spell upon Cullen so that the man wouldn't see him leave Skyhold in the dead of night and return to the now-blighted plains where Haven had once stood. Dancing through demons and worse, he walked beneath the pale green sky and saw the Fade peeking through. The red lyrium had also spread, marching far beyond the confines of Haven and making his travel that much more treacherous. He felt it wearing on him day after day, and felt the beginning of crystals beginning to settle in when he finally reached the crumbled walls of Haven and the buried remains of a trebuchet.

With no time to lose, he cast his spell.

And...it worked.

He was able to return to that fateful night so long ago when the Inquisitor had not emerged from the destruction of Haven. It took quite a bit of effort to arrange it so neither the Elder One or the Inquisitor saw him, but when he saw her disappear through the wood he'd weakened and drop into the tunnels below Haven, he sighed in relief and followed. Carefully he guided her towards the camp where he knew the rest of them were awaiting her, and sighed with relief when Cullen and Cassandra ran through the snow to retrieve her when she collapsed.

Things were different now. Surely it would be enough. Surely the world would be better.

With hope in his heart for the first time in a long time, he made the hike back to Skyhold ahead of them and cast the spell which would return him to his proper time. As he opened his eyes and looked around the library, he smiled. He saw shelves of books, not the nearly empty travesties of before, and people bustling all around. A glance out the window showed a healthy blue sky and plenty of troops along the parapet, and he smiled.

It had _worked._ The Inquisitor had returned, and that had made all the difference.

Quickly he rushed to Cullen's office and flung open the door, a smile already on his face, only to be greeted by a scowl from Cullen and a shout from the woman on the desk beneath him.

And, in the time it took to shut the door and lean against it, the realization hit him: _the Inquisitor was back. Things were different._

But the skies were clear, the rifts were being closed, and the Elder One was being thwarted at every turn. The world _was_ better, significantly so. Could he really object if the one thing that changed just so happened to affect him, and only him, on such a personal level?

Or should he simply realize that it was but another lesson in the fallacy of believing in unicorns?

It seemed he must.

So he accepted it, watching with gritted teeth when Cullen and the Inquisitor strolled along the ramparts, or played a game of chess, or disappeared to be alone for hours upon hours. He kept hoping the pain of it would lessen, but it never did. Cullen paid no more attention to Dorian than he did to any other soldier in his rank, a fact which sent Dorian to the tavern more often than not. A few nights with Bull did little to assuage the pain, but it did give him an excuse to drink more.

Eventually the night came that Corypheus was defeated. Everyone was celebrating the Inquisitor's great triumph, but all Dorian could do was hold on to his drink and keep it as full as he could manage despite his equally frequent attempts to empty it. When he saw Cullen disappear with the Inquisitor, it abruptly hit him.

He was free.

He left that night, ignoring Bull's knowing look as he walked into the tavern to pay off his full tab for the first time. It didn't matter that it was the dead of winter, or that he only had two coppers to rub together, or that his store of food would not sustain him for long.

At least, eventually, he would forget. And for good, this time.


	2. Phase 2: Envy

_It started with a fall._

The man--talk, dark, mysterious, and, above all, handsome--literally fell into Cullen's arms at the gates of Haven. It was the first time he smelled that oh-so-seductive scent which seemed to hover around the man from Tevinter, though whether it was from the oil in his hair or something which lingered on the man's skin, Cullen did not know.

He only knew he wanted to smell it again, several times over.

But there was no time, either to learn more of this mage called Dorian, or for Haven. Instead, hasty words, tense words, were exchanged, as Cullen led a retreat no commander ever wished to lead. Thankfully most survived, including the Herald, and Solas told them of the next home for the Inquisition, a fortress by the name of Skyhold.

On the way there, and the first few weeks as they settled in, Cullen determinedly found time to get to know the Inquisition's newest member. The man proved to be charming, witty, and, thankfully, just as interested in getting to know Cullen. When he saw the now Inquisitor talking with Dorian as well, he grew hopeful that the acceptance of the Inquisitor meant the acceptance of the Inquisition.

Emboldened, he extended the offer of a game of chess to the mage, and found the man to be the best sort of opponent: one who could enliven a game made dull by strategy and tactics, yet still provide somewhat of a challenge with a stream of lively banter and sharp wit. The gleam in his eyes and the way Dorian absently traced the line of his bared bicep with idle fingers while thinking of his next move certainly kept Cullen's attention focused on his opponent, at any rate.

And then the Inquisitor arrived.

Cullen thought nothing of it when she talked and laughed with them for a few moments before Cullen defeated Dorian soundly. Indeed, Cullen merely laughed along as the Inquisitor teased Dorian, a teasing Dorian took with grace as he bowed out of the game, though the twinkling glance in his gaze as he looked at Cullen promised a more thorough _later_. Smiling, Cullen set the board for another round, wondering if the Inquisitor would prove to be an interesting opponent as well.

Instead, it quickly became clear in the conversation that she had designs on someone, and that someone was _not_ Cullen.

He frowned, wondering if she had misunderstood something about the situation. Yet, no matter how he twisted everything he'd seen or heard, he could not see Dorian favoring the Inquisitor in that manner. A friend, perhaps, but not as _more._ Certainly not in the way the Inquisitor seemed to hope for. He almost corrected her misunderstanding, but then shook his head. Better to let Dorian handle it. He was far more charming than Cullen, anyway.

Matters between Cullen and Dorian continued to warm, especially when the Inquisitor was not resident in Skyhold. The chess games grew more frequent, then moved to his office, then ceased to be about chess entirely. They tried to be discreet, but of course it was inevitable that sooner or later some noticed. A leer from Bull here and a knowing smile from Leliana there made that clear. It didn't matter, though--only the heat between their bodies as they each sought to win the game between the sheets mattered.

And then...then came the disaster at Redcliffe.

Cullen did not learn what happened there until much later. All he knew--all _anyone_ in Skyhold knew--was that the Inquisitor and Dorian went to Redcliffe on their own without any reason known as to _why,_ even by Leliana. Yet when they returned, the Inquisitor's attitude towards Dorian had cooled significantly, and had in fact shifted to something almost hostile.

Later, he learned what happened at Redcliffe and who they'd met, and the name of the man who Cullen would merrily punch in the face on sight. At the time, though, he remained ignorant of the matter, and only saw that the Inquisitor's attitude had changed towards himself as well, becoming the polar opposite of the chill she now gave to Dorian.

From that day forth, not a day went by that she did not come to visit him in Skyhold, unless she was out on the field. Whether he was in his office, or training his troops. And when she was there, Dorian refused to be there. Even worse, the interest she'd shown in Dorian seemed to have transferred in whole to Cullen, and no matter how disinterested he acted, she would press her interest home to him with increasing regularity.

When she wasn't in Skyhold, he received frequent personal messages from her relayed by wing, warm letters which sometimes made his ears heat. There were even several suggestions he would have wanted to try with Dorian, but he always seemed to be gone with her as well, despite her animosity towards him.

It wasn't until he tried to be a bit more direct in letting her know that it was inappropriate at best and wrong at worst for the Commander and the Inquisitor to have an intimate relationship that she revealed her checkmate to him.

_You will be mine, or I will give Dorian to his father wrapped in a ribbon._

When he'd scoffed, she told him the events of Redcliffe, recounting the entire exchange between Dorian and his father with a certain relish. His stomach sank as he heard the admiring way she detailed Halward and his willingness to do what must be done to accomplish his goals. More, fear gripped him as she described how she had lingered for an extended conversation with Halward after Dorian had stormed out of the inn, dangling the small crystal from her hand which she could use to summon Magister Pavus to Skyhold to retrieve his son. After all, the Inquisitor could have anyone thrown into the cells, especially a Vint pariah accused of treason against the Inquisition.

And when he looked into her eyes, he knew she meant what she said. If it was something he'd learned since Haven, it was that the Inquisitor never bluffed.

Feeling the jaws of the trap close around his throat, he agreed to her demands--because the alternative was unthinkable.

From then on, as far as Skyhold was concerned, he was the Inquisitor's man. She used Dorian's father, and later the threat of Tranquility, as a bludgeon whenever Cullen balked at taking the next step. Bereft of the man he loved and forced to a pretension which slowly ate him away on the inside, he succumbed at last to the lure of blue solace. For a while, it helped to make the world more distant, his pain less real, but he knew eventually the depression would hit, making him take even more to combat it.

And, with every preparation of every precious blue vial, a small part of him looked forward to forgetting this part of his life.

There was a moment, one single moment, when he tried to escape the nightmare. A moment when he'd gathered his strength and courage sufficiently to pin the Inquisitor to the table beneath him, face screwed into a baleful expression as he prepared to tell her that he'd had enough--and then the door flew open. He turned to glare at the intruder, hoping they would simply leave when they saw his expression, and saw Dorian standing in the door with a broad smile on his face. Before Cullen could change his expression, however, the Inquisitor shouted at Dorian to leave.

The brilliant smile turned to defeat in that one instant, and Dorian did as he was ordered.

As the door closed with a certain booming finality, a hand gripped Cullen with painful intimacy as the Inquisitor whispered _You are mine. Never forget._

After that, Cullen finally gave in to the inevitable.

Following the incident in his office, Cullen found it easier not to interact with Dorian, either to smile or to frown. Ignoring him was the only way Cullen could make it through each day, that and focusing on his work. The Inquisitor made sure to dominate whatever time he had outside of work, so Cullen earned a reputation of fearsome dedication: to the Inquisition, and to the Inquisitor.

That hardness, that ruthlessness, spread out from the Inquisitor to the others as well, like ink in water. Leliana became nothing but whipcord and bone, her purpose entirely centered on bringing down the Venatori and Corypheus. Cassandra chose to ignore Cullen's resumption of the use of lyrium, accepting it as a necessary evil to bring down a worse one in a compromise which raised a permanent sense of unease within Cullen in her presence. Even Josephine's smile faded; instead, she acquired a constant line between her brows and a permanent squint as she stayed in her office for longer and longer hours.

But at least Corypheus had not won.

When rumors began to circulate about Dorian and Bull, it hurt. Oh it hurt, especially when the Inquisitor gleefully relayed just how much Dorian enjoyed sharing Bull's tent while on the field, and how much Bull needed Dorian after the Chargers' loss in battle. It didn't make Cullen want Dorian less, however, and made the burden of his guilt increase. After all, _he_ was the one who had snubbed Dorian, wasn't he? Regardless of _why_ he had done so, _Cullen_ was the one who had set in place the distance between them.

At the same time, he felt guilty for not being happier that Dorian had found someone to be with, and that Bull had someone to turn to after his own loss. Maybe that was why Dorian went to the tavern so frequently now--for Bull, and not to drink away the pain of rejection and being alone. Yet even that did not assuage Cullen's guilt or dampen his desire. It simply drove them deeper, until he could almost convince himself they didn't exist at all.

Over time, Cullen came to see the parallels his present life had with what had come before. As in the Circle, his freedom and sanity slowly eroded as the lies surrounding him curled more and more tightly around him. As in Kirkwall, he pledged his loyalty to the tyrant who promised the end of that darkness coming for them all.

But this time, he knew he could not escape. The darkness was real, the evil that of one of the first darkspawn seeking to attain the power of a god. What was his own happiness against the need to stop such a monster? Besides, one day Corypheus would fall, and Cullen could lay down his burdens. Or he would perish in the attempt, leaving the fight to those who came after him.

Either way, he would be free.

And then the moment came, the glorious moment when they actually defeated Corypheus. Then, he couldn't help but smile. Who would not? The greater evil had been defeated, after all. There was no longer a need for the Inquisition, and therefore a Commander for it.

He would be free, and Dorian would be safe.

One more night, he endured her, one more night when he acted the part of doting partner for all to see. After so much time wearing that mask so tightly to his face, it passed quickly. The next morning, buoyed by anticipation, he rushed up to the library, eager to tell Dorian everything, that they were free to leave the Inquisitor behind now.

And found the Inquisitor waiting for him.

His steps faltered as she rose from the chair where Dorian normally sat reading his books. Her head tilted as she looked him up and down, and a wave of dread washed over him.

_Where's Dorian?_

_Gone, never to return._

His face hardened, and he started to turn away. _Then I must be going as well._

Her hand reached out to grab his. _No. You cannot leave us._ When he tried to pull away once more, she yanked him closer, then calmly laid his hand on the soft swell of her abdomen. _No,_ she repeated. _You cannot leave us._

His hope fled as the finality of his fate swept over him: _he was hers, now and forever._

After all, it was no more than he deserved.


	3. Phase 3: Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for Extremely Dubious Consent

When Dorian reached the bottom of the mountain, a carriage already awaited him. His eyes moved from the open door to the footman waiting patiently next to it, and then from him to the crest of House Pavus stitched into the footman's garb. With a sigh of resignation, he left the bitter joy of Skyhold behind and climbed into the carriage without a single word of greeting to the man waiting for him inside.

As the carriage set into motion, Dorian kept his gaze fixed on the terrain outside, not even looking at his father until the last hint of snow and mountain had passed away. Only then did the conversation begin, hesitantly at first, then with more certainty as time passed. By the time they reached the port where a ship awaited them, an agreement had been worked out between them, one which Dorian insisted on having in writing and sealed with a spell to prevent tampering.

When they arrived in Minrathous, both his bride and his reward awaited them at the docks. Dorian knew he should have felt angrier at his father's blatant manipulation, but a few minutes alone with Rilienus in the carriage did much to distract him from his rage.

The engagement and wedding went by in a blur, aided by nights of passion which ended all too quickly when the morning came and the lies began anew. For months he lived this way, giving his wife the promised single night a week until finally she informed him she would no longer be in need of his services.

During the day, he and his wife settled into an almost companionable relationship. He learned to separate his hatred of his father and lies away from her and forced himself to learn how to at least achieve amicability, and she returned the favor. After much quiet conversation, she agreed that Halward would have no part in the child's upbringing, and he came to view her as a friend, albeit nothing more. As the months passed and the child in her womb grew, he learned to separate the lies of the daylight hours from the heat and passion of the night, trying to convince himself that the poison was not slowly working its way deeper into his very soul.

During the night, he fell once more into old habits. Halward provided wine in abundance, which dulled the pain to a large extent. Rilienus did what he could to soothe the rest, whether with clever lips and tongue or the warmth of his arms. Matters had changed between them, however. Dorian's mind could not forget Cullen completely, and that ache took a permanent place in his heart. With Rilienus he found contentment and passion, but not love, and even that remained caged by the pale glow of the moon.

With each passing week, however, his freedom grew closer. His promised heir to House Pavus would be delivered, and he would be done with the Imperium for good.

And then came the fateful night of his son's birth, and the day the lies consumed his entire life.

Later, no one could tell him how, precisely, the healers had failed in their duty to the mother of his son. Later, he would wonder why it was his father who placed the baby Dorian had never wished to meet in his arms and inform him that the child had lost his mother while coming into the world. Later, the suspicions would form around the fact that, the moment the agreement with his father had been fulfilled, a reason had immediately arisen which obligated Dorian to remain or see his son raised by the very man who had engineered the child's existence.

And that, Dorian could not bear.

As he stared down at the new life in his hands, all thoughts of manipulation eluded him. There was a truth here: this boy was his son, as was clear from the dark mop of hair above the innocent gaze of pale grey eyes. And if this boy was his son, then Dorian had to love him the way he had never been loved by his father.

At first, that single core truth was enough. He ignored the circumstances of the broken agreement with his father in those first few months as he learned to be a father himself, forgot that he had initially intended to leave the child behind, forgot that everything in his life except his son was a lie. He found a quiet hope he'd never thought to experience, a gentle joy which had seemed inconceivable only a few years ago. Oh, he could have given the care of his son over to others, as so many others did, but that was not the path Dorian wished to follow.

Soon enough, however, cracks developed in the carefully constructed cage which contained the part of his life with Rielinus as the cries of the child consumed much of their time together. Eventually the distance between them grew until one morning Dorian awoke to find Rilienus gone.

Yet his son needed him and, increasingly, Dorian found he needed his son in return.

He figured out far too late that, of all the traps his father had ever set, this one would prove to be the most cunning. The realization struck full force as his family sat together in the garden to watch his son play in the warmth of a Tevinter summer.

_You cannot leave him,_ his father told him. _If you do, and he asks what became of you, I will tell him that you did not love him enough to remain._

Ice shot down Dorian's spine as he turned to stare at his father. _Then I will take him with me._

His father only smiled in response, and that was when Dorian felt the jaws of the trap snap closed around his throat. Even his mother refused to look in his direction, adding to the pain of the moment as he felt the certainty of his fate crawl through him and settle in his mind: _he could not escape._ This was his life now.

His father had won.


	4. Phase 4: Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Non-consensual

_It was all downhill from there._

The months following the defeat of Corypheus turned out to be very busy for the Inquisition. As the Inquisitor's waistline expanded, delegating tasks became of the utmost importance. With Vivienne returned to Val Royeaux to assume her duties as the new Divine and Cassandra departed to re-establish the Seeker Order, Cullen found his duties increased as well--at first. His world narrowed to focus only on the Inquisitor and the Inquisition, blocking out all other distractions as he worked towards a better future for his child.

And then his daughter was born, and from the first time he held her in his arms, his world became centered around her.

So blinded was he by his love for his daughter that it took a while for certain oddities to work through the haze of fatherhood and settle into his mind. When the Inquisitor had returned to her duties, he'd gladly stepped in to father their child with the hope that through the shared bond of parenthood, he could forgive the actions of the mother and find a measure of peace with his lot in life.

Except that didn't happen.

Oh, the Inquisitor would spend time with their daughter--but never when Cullen was also there. The reverse was true as well in that she only spent time with Cullen when their daughter was in someone else's care, though between her duties and their daughter, she demanded less and less of his time. She still would expect his conjugal attention, but it became even more perfunctory on his part until he felt as if he were there to give her pleasure without a care for his own. Any attempt to decline was answered with the veiled threat of immediate revocation of his access to his daughter, and yet he was never allowed to be with both daughter and mother.

In short, it was obvious that, in the Inquisitor's mind, they were not a unit. Instead, she had a child and a sex toy with no apparent desire for there to be any joining of the two into a _family._

And that disquieted him, a disquiet which could all too easily tip into despair.

Still, the world had never hurried to ease his disquiet, so he swallowed it down where all the rest of his misgivings and regrets lived, and carried on with his life. His world became his duties once more, and his daughter his greatest source of joy. There didn't seem to be a way to step away, or even to reveal the truth to anyone. Leliana had gained edges which made stone seem soft, and whatever the Inquisitor had done to help Josephine in her financial woes seemed to have left the Antivan woman in permanent debt to her. Both women adored his daughter, but both grew silent and dropped their eyes when Cullen attempted even a whisper of complaint against the Inquisitor.

That was when he realized that the Inquisitor had a hold on each of them as well, and that he was truly alone.

In the months that followed, as his daughter grew from a tiny bundle to her first tottering steps, an unexpected bulwark entered his life in the form of Iron Bull. The large man had an unexpected knack for calming his daughter when she was at her fussiest, and he seemed to be as fond of 'the little mite' as Josephine and Leliana were. Cullen soon grew used to Bull's large form in his office, playing with his daughter when a report required Cullen's attention but he was reluctant to return his daughter to the Inquisitor.

This naturally led to extended conversations between the two men, conversations with led to the chess board in the garden--chess games interrupted more often than not by his daughter as she deliberately made a mess of the pieces to get the men to pay more attention to her.

More and more, however, on those occasions when his daughter was elsewhere and the Inquisitor's time was occupied--a situation Cullen found happening more and more when it came to his forced lover--Cullen found himself spending increasing time with Bull. Perhaps it was the way the man _listened_ so intently, or the way the man had of speaking to the weariness of violence which resonated so strongly with Cullen, or the expression of distaste which came to Bull's face when Cullen spoke of the Inquisitor through grated teeth.

Or perhaps it was what came later, in the dark of the night when Bull's ropes held him tight and the gag blocked his voice, when Bull helped Cullen find his own agency again by _choosing_ to give himself to another rather than being forced to it.

Regardless, time passed and his daughter grew, and Cullen felt himself fade more and more from the forefront as the Inquisitor tightened her grip upon the Inquisition. At first he rather enjoyed it, viewing it as a small gift of freedom from her constant scrutiny. Yet even when fewer and fewer reports showed up on his desk, his mind could not help but notice the holes between the facts, the pieces missing from the Inquisition's unity at the height of the battle against Corypheus. His attention expanded beyond the pieces of paper to encompass the whole of Skyhold and, when that wasn't enough, to the Keeps far beyond its walls.

And what he found made him frown.

He noticed the way that more and more people went to the _Herald's Rest_ just to drink, sinking into their chairs and benches with mugs in hand to stare into the depths of the liquid as if they could find the answer constantly eluding them.

He noticed the slow and steady exodus of his troops, though the numbers remained constant. The newcomers which replaced those quietly leaving, surprisingly, seemed to consist mainly of elves, bright-eyed and eager to help. It wasn't their presence which alarmed him as much as the quiet departure of those who had fought with the Inquisition during the time of Corypheus.

He noticed, on those times when his forays took him from Skyhold, the way that people's smile would falter when they saw the eye of the Inquisition on his armor, and he took to wearing a swath of cloth which covered it. The banners of the Inquisition were still in their place, heralding its reach and influence, but on clothes and on pins, the symbol seemed to all but disappear the farther he got from the Inquisition's headquarters.

And thus did doubt launch its desultory attack upon his spirit.

Parallel to these ripples along the foundation of his faith grew the intensity of his relationship with Bull. He would never call it love--he'd known the acidic delight of that poignant bliss before losing it and a great deal more, after all--but it was _relief_ in a fashion lost to him since the days of the Blight. So when Bull spoke, Cullen listened with a closer ear than he might have only months before, when he still _believed._

In the quiet of the night, when Bull's hands ran over his skin and eased away the mark of ropes and fingers both, Cullen let his eyelids fall as he absorbed Bull's description of another world, a better world, the words falling softly on a mind desperate for an escape from the world he currently found himself in. A world without the Inquisitor, without the Chantry or the Circles, without the guilt of pain or the yearning for the gentle touch of one far distant, with a place for everyone and everyone in a place...

So when Bull finally dropped the question--if Cullen would help him when the time came to make that world, to get rid of the vestiges of power which darkened his existence--the answer came, simple and honest, from his lips: _Yes._

And it was only later that he came to understand the full meaning of that simple word.

Later, when the letter from the Exalted Council arrived at Skyhold and summoned the Inquisitor to the Winter Palace for a final reckoning before the three great powers of the South: Orlais, Ferelden, and the Chantry.

Later, when Josephine explained with downcast eyes that the Inquisitor would be taking their daughter with her to Halamshiral, while Cullen remained to mind Skyhold in her absence.

Later, when an envelope signed with Leliana's cipher appeared on his pillow, containing a Crow's contract signed by the Inquisitor which called for an 'accident' to befall Cullen before her return.

Only then he did he understand the treason which he had agreed to commit, and embraced it with his whole being. Which was why he and his Qunari companion, unseen and set in their determination, followed the Inquisitor and her entourage to the Winter Palace.

And, in the back of his mind, the mantra ran, over and over again: he would save his daughter from being washed away by the rising tide.


	5. Phase 5: Pride

The day of his father's murder began like any other day.

Dorian rose from his bed, performed his ablutions while ignoring the mirror, then went to check on his son. He smiled only when he saw his son's smile, the joy impossible to repress, and settled into a morning filled with brightly colored toys and slow walks through the garden with pauses now and then to right the fledgling toddler from his falls. When the messenger found him, they had settled down for a nap under the large poplar tree at the far edge of the garden, where Dorian could stare through the fence and dream dreams of freedom while his son slumbered on his chest.

The message itself was curt, an order to return to the estate proper as soon as he received it and meet with his mother in the study. With a sigh, Dorian gathered his son in his arms and obeyed, handing the child off to a particularly beloved nursemaid to care for the boy in Dorian's absence.

Once he reached the salon where his mother usually kept court at home, however, he instantly knew something was very, very wrong. With a short, painful phrase, his mother changed Dorian's life once more.

_Your father is dead._

A chill swept over his back, a chill which deepened as his mother told him the pertinent details of the _why_ and _how_ with an unreadable expression which spoke of either apathy or control. Dorian kept his mien at just the correct shade of tragically shocked and saddened, but inside a tremulous hope sprouted.

That hope remained, even when it became clear that his mother expected him to take up his father's duties immediately. He listened and nodded when appropriate as she listed off what he was to do and how and why, but deep in his mind he was already planning how he would use his father's death to enable him and his son to escape the Imperium.

Not that he let that show on his face, of course.

Still, he could tell that his mother had designed his schedule to give him as little opportunity as possible to leave the estate with his son, leaving the boy in his mother's control while he tended to the duties of House Pavus. It was an obstacle, but one he was sure he could surmount.

So he played the game. He attended to his appearance, though he left his hair long. He attended to his mother and the guests she invited over with strategic precision, pretending to a keen interest in matters which had long ago dulled in interest to him. He attended the gatherings of the Magisterium in Minrathous, acting in his capacity as Lord Pavus--the title _was_ his, after all.

He tracked down the man responsible for his father's murder and coldly unleashed everything his father taught him about the evils of the Magisterium, usually followed by the caution of what _not_ to do. Rival businesses were set up in the name of House Pavus, besting those of his opponent; rumors were spread of the elven men and women which filled the bed of the man's wife; and he arranged alliances which stacked the votes of the Magisterium against the other House in such a way as to isolate him from those who had once been friends. In the end the man confronted him on the floor of the Magisterium with the wrath of a thousand Old Gods.

And Dorian snuffed his life with a callous disregard for anything but answering the insult done to House Pavus.

He even acquired a lover--acceptable now that he had a son and heir, of course. Rilienus returned to him, though Dorian found he couldn't care enough to determine if it was affection, lust, or power which had drawn him thither, and soon the man occupied his bed once more. The gentleness of their earlier relationship had passed, for both men had been instructed in the harsh reality of the place of a man's male lover in the Imperium. There yet remained the physical attraction, however, and for the moment, that was enough. Enough, at least, for Dorian to pretend to forget the happiness he'd once known.

And so he played the game, one he intended to win.

Yet even as he played the game, he kept some of his old habits. His mornings were still devoted to his son, as often as he could manage: guiding his steps and picking him up when he fell, and long naps under the shade of the poplar tree. As time passed, his plan grew more and more elaborate, waiting for that one opportunity, that one opening, which would allow him to launch the first foray into freedom.

And then the Magisterium handed it to him on a silver platter--or, more accurately, on an encoded crystal. The message arrived upon a messenger wearing the emblem of the Archon, but both he and his mother knew who had issued the enclosed order to represent the Imperium at the Exalted Council in the South.

_Due to your extensive contacts with the Inquisition, you are hereby nominated to attend the Exalted Council._

Oh, there was quite a bit more, with all sorts of flowery language wrapped up around one core idea: to make certain that the Imperium's interests were not impinged upon by the Council. For all that the Imperium had initially frowned upon the Inquisition and its activities, the defeat of Corypheus had elevated estimation of the organization--and, oddly, of Dorian himself, as he'd learned once he'd emerged into Tevinter society as Lord of House Pavus.

The next step proved a bit more difficult: taking his son to the Winter Palace. In the end, he was forced to acquiesce to his mother's demands to accompany them, and his plan shifted to work around that rather significant detail. It would not defeat him, however. He would not allow it.

As he left the estates of House Pavus behind him, holding his son on his lap as their carriage wended its way to the port in Minrathous, he smiled faintly. This was the first step in a longer journey, after all.

Perhaps he had a reason to hope after all.


	6. Phase 6: Desire

Cullen moved unnoticed through the Winter Palace, aided by the use of some darkened hair and Bull's eyepatch along with a 'borrowed' Fereldan guard's uniform. Certainly he carried himself like a soldier, and no one thought to question his presence amongst so many others. Though he took care to avoid Inquisition members, both past and present, he also noticed that they all seemed to remain together in one corner of the Palace, not really interacting with the other forces present. His goal was information: who was here, what their goal was, and how he could use it to his advantage.

He saw people he knew, of course: Divine Victoria, cool gaze surveying the assemblage in clear calculation; Lady Seeker Cassandra, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword as she stared towards the Inquisition party with a frown; Viscount Varric, hiding his anxiety at the gathering by needling Bran with his sharp wit. He knew that all three would notice and wonder at the absence of Bull and, of course, himself, and so he took pains to avoid their gaze as much as possible, even taking to abrupt changes of direction and, a few times, moving behind convenient bushes and pillars to avoid scrutiny.

It was following one of those spontaneous examinations of the darkness between some bushes that he heard a voice which made him freeze in place, transfixed.

"Yes, Mother, I am well aware of the fact, but I insist he remain with me."

The intonation, the timbre, even the edge of irritation: it formed a specific image in Cullen's mind, causing an involuntary flush to touch his cheeks. The flush quickly turned to a pallor, however, as he wondered _why_ Dorian was at the Exalted Council. Surely the Inquisitor wouldn't have sent for him, would she?

No. No, of course not. Unless she did it strictly to mock Dorian with Cullen's absence from the Council, but that would be a petty maneuver even for her.

_Probably,_ anyway.

"Surely you won't be taking him around the Winter Palace?" a woman's voice replied to Dorian, pulling Cullen back into the present. "Do you not have business to which you must attend?"

With a frown, Cullen edged towards the voices, striving for a glimpse, wondering what he would see. His heart rose to his throat as he saw Dorian lean down and pick up a sturdy looking young lad, holding him close as he looked towards someone hidden from sight by a bush. Something about the boy struck Cullen straight to his heart, and he knew without needing to be told that the lad was Dorian's son.

Even as he tried to process the full implications of that, Cullen stared as Dorian replied to the woman. "I am not my father. I do not believe my son to be an inconvenience. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be about my _business."_

And with that, Dorian turned and walked away from her--towards the bushes where Cullen had sought shelter.

Instinctively Cullen shrank back until Dorian had passed, but the same instincts spurred him into motion to follow. Why he did so instead of simply letting the man disappear into the grounds, he wasn't sure, but he could no more ignore Dorian's presence than he could stop breathing.

He did his best to avoid notice as he followed Dorian into the gardens of the Winter palace, and thought himself quite unnoticed--up until the moment when he turned a corner and took two steps into an oddly empty dead-end. Even as he realized that he'd lost sight of Dorian and before his long-neglected Templar skills could warn him, he found himself surrounded by the glow of a magical glyph which held his limbs still, and felt something poke him in the back as an achingly familiar voice breathed into his ear, "Well, well. What have we here? Did Mother send you?"

Cullen struggled to answer, but found himself prevented from answering by the spell. He wasn't sure he could have spoken, frankly, considering the strange sensation that worked down his spine in memory of the _last_ time that man had whispered so intimately into his ear. His mouth grew dry as he struggled to speak, but the prodding in his back dug deeper.

"You can go tell her it's too late. He's safe," Dorian murmured. "Safe in the hands of those who will never give him back to her. Run along, now, but don't try anything precipitous. You don't want to learn how far I will go to protect my son."

As Cullen felt the magic slip away, he sagged in place. Reaching up slowly, he tugged the eyepatch from his head and let it dangle in his hand as he took a shuddering breath, then breathed the word he'd been craving to say for what seemed like an eternity.

_"Amatus."_

He heard a swift intake of breath behind him, just before the staff returned to press into his back. It wasn't painful, but he felt the disbelief pouring from Dorian even as he said, "No. The Inquisitor made a point to tell me _he_ wasn't here. You seek to deceive me, distract me."

Cullen closed his eyes, hearing the anger in the voice, but even deeper than that hearing an old, muted agony which mirrored his own. "She doesn't know I'm here. Did you really think the Commander of the Inquisition would wander around in a Fereldan uniform with an eyepatch on?"

There was a long pause as Dorian's breath rang harshly in the closeness of the arboreal corridor. Cullen felt Dorian lean close, felt a feather light touch on his hair, heard a soft sound as Dorian inhaled deeply. Abruptly there was a muffled thud as something long and hard dropped to the ground in the same instant that arms wrapped around him and squeezed the breath from him.

_"Amatus,"_ Dorian whispered in his ear. "It _is_ you."

How Cullen managed to turn around while in such a tight grip he could not later remember. All he cared about was the moment his lips found Dorian's, the moment when the world toppled and lurched its way back into an upright and proper position once more. For a moment, nothing else mattered save for the musky scent lingering in the man's hair, or the trembling of Dorian's hands as they cupped Cullen's face. The kiss grew from tentative to tender, then toppled into tempestuous in a matter of moments. Air quickly grew scarce, but that didn't matter. This was _Dorian,_ after all.

Even perfection could not last forever, however, and Cullen reluctantly released Dorian when their lungs simply could not be denied further attention. Their gazes remained locked, however, and Cullen let himself take in all the subtle ways in which Dorian had changed: longer hair which he itched to explore, deeper lines around his eyes and on his forehead, and a hollowness under his eyes which spoke of a lingering pain still unabated. His hands rose to cradle that precious face, his thumbs running over Dorian's cheeks as he felt himself subject to the same scrutiny.

Finally Dorian spoke. "I thought you were...taken."

"I _was_ taken," Cullen said softly. "Just not in the manner which you assumed." After a harsh swallow, Cullen explained in short, soft words exactly "how" he'd been taken, against his will, by the Inquisitor. Somehow, during that entire time, not one soul interrupted them. This was definitely a good thing, since somewhere along the way, the explanation changed from a numb recitation to comfort, and from comfort to carnality. By that point, Cullen suspected it was a comfort for both of them, a memory of the last time they had both been truly happy.

Vaguely he was aware of the branches and brambles digging into his back through the leather armor as Dorian's mouth explored his hardening length at...well, at _length,_ and his fingers fisted in the man's much more _grippable_ hair as a soft moan escaped his lips. From that point, there was no turning back, and soon their lips were again locked in passion as Cullen's hands held Dorian's legs tight around his waist, his own hips rolling in a barely remembered rhythm which made the mage moan into his mouth. He soon discovered that there was no way to draw out the encounter, not after how long they'd been apart, and soon enough they both embraced bliss in the same moment, their cries muted only by each other's lips.

It took a long, solid minute for Cullen to relinquish his hold on Dorian after that, and then another frenzied minute or two of kissing after _that_ before they remembered that they should clean up as best as they could and find their pants again.

Only when they had recovered did Cullen take Dorian's hand and squeeze it tightly between his. "I missed you."

"And I you," Dorian replied immediately. "If only--"

Whatever he might have said, however, would remain unknown as the sound of someone clearing his throat interrupted them. Cullen turned in surprise as Bull eased his way from the foliage around them, wondering _how_ a man that large could remain unnoticed for so long. Suddenly his eyes widened. "How long were you--"

"Long enough to get even longer," Bull said with a wide grin.

Eyes dropping to a much lower level to verify Bull's claim, Cullen felt the flush in his cheeks burn, quick and heated, even as Dorian asked in an anxious tone, "Is he safe?"

Bull nodded, his expression turning serious. "Safe and snug as a nug in a rug. Don't worry, Varric won't let your mother within ten leagues of him." Before Cullen could do more than raise his eyebrows at the connection, Bull gestured to the bush from which he'd emerged. "We've got other problems, though. _Big_ problems, and I don't mean my state right now." He looked directly at Cullen. "Besides, you _really_ need to see what's going on."

Cullen blinked in surprise, but by this point he knew he could trust Bull implicitly--even if he really wanted to ask the man why he hadn't told Cullen about Dorian being at the Winter Palace. "Lead on."

Without another word, Bull turned around and led them on a circuitous route through bushes, empty byways in the garden, and even a hidden passage through the walls until they stood on top of a wall around a small courtyard tucked to one side of the Winter Palace. Bull pressed his finger to his lips and pointed to their left, where two guards stood in apparent boredom in their duty to prevent anyone from entering the enclosed space. Even as Cullen took in their positions, Bull's arm snapped forward, and something landed between the guards, followed shortly by a harsh buzzing noise and startled cries of terror.

_"Bees! Run!"_

With a grin, Bull jumped down, then turned and motioned them to follow. "Not much time," he said in an urgent voice.

As Cullen's feet hit the ground, however, his eyes were drawn to what lay within the courtyard: a large mirror that-was-not, its surface swirling with an energy he didn't recognize. There was no time for questions, however, as Bull grabbed both men's hands and hauled them through the mirror...

...and into an impossible realm.


	7. Phase 7: Nightmare

The first few moments after moving through the mirror proved to be disorienting, at least for Dorian. The world swam about him as one of the most fundamental awarenesses he'd drilled into himself, the one connected intimately with the magic he held close to his chest, suddenly stretched and snapped and slipped gracelessly into a different beat. He gasped and fell to his knees as he struggled to re-anchor himself in the impossibility of this place, unaware for the moment of the other men, at least until one of them leaned over and lightly touched his shoulder.

The touch snapped Dorian out of his reverie, and he hastily pushed himself to his feet and gave Cullen's anxiety a reassuring smile. "I'm fine."

Except he _wasn't._ They stood in a place where time itself moved to a different beat, and Dorian felt the echoes of the world he'd left behind years ago, the world where the Inquisitor never left Haven, where Cullen and Dorian had drifted into eternal slumber in each others' arms as the snows of Skyhold fell around them. Memories which were his yet were not flashed before his eyes, and it took effort not to stare at Cullen for longer than a moment or two as memories of another world whirled in his head.

It was Bull who broke that silence, settling his hands on Dorian's and Cullen's shoulders. "This way. You need to hear this."

As they set into motion, Dorian's steps felt muffled, as if each step pressed him through layers of worlds unknown and lives unnumbered. Sound and light dimmed around him, leaving only the men walking by his side, save that they shifted identity step by step, each step resounding in his head with the impact of a Qunari cannon.

_Boom_ He walked between Bull and Cullen, just as they had entered, save there was utter darkness around and within them.

_Boom_ A younger version of himself was on his left, and a Cullen with white hair and stooped shoulders smiled at him from his right.

_Boom_ Bull, covered in blood, strode forward with an angry expression on his face while Cullen stumbled along, pressing a hand against the wound in his side.

_Boom_ Corypheus moved in front of him, and a blond Templar clad in armor the color of red lyrium held the other end of the chain wrapped around Dorian's neck.

_Boom_ His father commanded him to walk faster as Rilienus tried to hold him back.

_Boom_ Tears on his face, Varric lifted the body of the child in his arms as--

_Boom_ The Inquisitor screamed at the Nightmare demon as its claws wrapped around--

_Boom_ The life drained from Cullen's eyes as snow melted in Dorian's hair.

Suddenly the strange melange of realities in his mind burst, letting him scramble it back into a semblance of the _here and now_ as a hand settled on his shoulder and pulled him to a halt. "Are you _sure_ you're all right?"

Dorian forced himself to relax as he met Cullen's gaze, seeing the concern on the man's face laying atop years' worth of pain and anger. "I'm fine. This place just takes a bit of acclimation."

"Come on," Bull urged, and this time Dorian held Cullen's hand, using the man's presence to anchor himself into the _right_ world. Or at least, the one he'd made his own through his interference in the timeline. This _was_ the right world, wasn't it?

Pushing the question aside, Dorian tried to analyze the oddities around them as they walked forward at a brisk pace: broken down architecture, stairs climbing into nowhere, the sky that looked similar to the Fade, save that this was _not_ the Fade--as Dorian well knew after his sojourn in Adamant. Besides, in the Fade, he'd never felt the weight of a thousand worlds land on his shoulder, not like here. This place...it was the center of _something,_ a point of intersection, but for what? And by what mechanism?

"What is this place?" Cullen asked, staring at a half-destroyed staircase as they walked beneath it.

"That mirror you saw?" Bull asked. "Lots of mirrors like that, and they all lead here. This place is sort of a crossroads for them, or something." Bull grunted. "At least, that's what I was told." The way he said it made it clear he didn't really think he knew everything he needed to know. "Anyway, some people are going to meet in here, and you really need to hear what they say."

As Dorian pondered the matter of _mirrors_ and how many worlds they resided in, Cullen frowned. "Why didn't you tell me any of this before? Or about Dorian? Or about--"

A large explosion shook the ground under them, and Bull cursed as he lumbered into a run. "No time. We'll lose our chance soon."

"For wh--" Dorian started to ask, but then stumbled as another explosion rocked through this odd place. The shockwave blasted through some of the already decrepit ruins around them, and soon they were all dodging bits of falling masonry as they dashed towards a mirror directly ahead. As they ran, Dorian caught glimpses of other mirrors in the distance amidst all sorts of impossible architecture, but in the end, both Bull's urgency and the shaking ground ushered them forward and through the mirror the Qunari had chosen.

And into madness.

The air ahead glowed and crackled with magic, a mixture of purple and green which stained the heavens and blew over the land with the force of the gods. As Dorian's vision struggled to adjust despite the chaos of light and darkness, Bull grabbed him and Cullen and hauled them behind a crumbling wall. "It's dangerous out there," he muttered. "We have to be careful."

Suddenly a wordless scream of rage echoed over the battlefield, followed by an extensive string of profanity which culminated in an explosive cacophony that lit the sky with a bright green glow. Cullen stiffened. "That's the Inquisitor."

"Yeah. It's complicated." Bull heaved himself around, then started to follow the wall. "Stay close. We can't be seen."

As they moved along the wall, Dorian took every opportunity to peer through the cracks. Over time, he managed to stitch together a view of a battle fought between Inquisition and Qunari forces, yet somehow there was also a Qunari mage--_saarebas,_ he reminded himself--locked in a magical duel with the Inquisitor herself. When they reached the end of the wall and Bull paused to consider his next move, Dorian turned and looked over the battle. His eyes widened as he saw the Inquisitor suddenly scream again, hunching over her arm as the green light pulsed through her body. He could feel the tension of the magic even from here, and braced himself for the inevitable uncoiling.

"I _will_ control you," the Inquisitor roared at her hand, but it was too late. The magic tore loose from the anchor, yanking her up to dangle in the air as another wave of green magic burst out and knocked everyone to their knees once more.

"That's our chance," Bull grunted, pointing ahead. Dorian turned to see a Qunari woman turn from the battle and slip through one of the mirrors. "That's where we need to go."

"But," Cullen began, "the Inquisitor knows where my--"

"Has to wait." Bull reached out to take Cullen's hand, an oddly intimate gesture that made Dorian raise an eyebrow. "Trust me. She won't be far behind."

Cullen gave a sigh of frustration, but in the end he nodded. "I trust you, Bull."

Dorian's other eyebrow rose to join the first one, but there was no time to pursue that. In the end it didn't matter as Cullen took Dorian's hand and gave him a weary smile. "At least we'll be together after all this."

Dorian smiled in return, the warmth of the man's presence filling him. "Yes. Yes, of course we will. I'm never letting you out of my sight again, _amatus._"

"Come on, you two. You'll have time to fuck again later," Bull said with a grin, then burst out of hiding and ran to the mirror, disappearing from sight as the surface of the mirror glimmered.

The ground shook, almost drowning out the Inquisitor's screams as the sky lit with green once more, this time mingling with a bright purple aura from the _saarebas'_ magic. Dorian's hand tightened around Cullen's, and after a shared nod they both ran after Bull and dove through the mirror.

On the other side, they stumbled to a halt next to Bull, staring at the veritable forest of Qunari statues in disturbingly lifelike poses which stretched before them. Dorian's magical senses tingled as he realized that they _weren't_ just statues, but even as he opened his mouth to warn his companions, they heard a familiar voice speak in the distance, followed by an angry response.

"Well, shit," Bull grunted, then broke into a run.

Dorian and Cullen again followed after him as the argument ahead grew more heated, and they all skid to a halt just in time to see the woman Qunari who'd led them through the mirror solidify into solid granite. And beyond her, walking towards another of the large mirrors...

"Solas," Dorian breathed.

Solas paused in his stride, then turned to face them. "You are not who I expected," he admitted.

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Bull said, "Yeah, well, it's complicated."

"Moreso than you might believe," Solas said in hushed tones. His gaze suddenly sharpened and looked past them, and a frown settled onto his face. "They are here."

Puzzled about the whole affair, Dorian turned to look behind them, eyes widening as he saw the Inquisitor stumbling towards them. Her left arm crackled and glowed with the same green energy as he'd seen before, but her right arm... Dorian's eyes widened as he saw the child clenched within its grip. Even before Cullen stepped forward with a cry, he knew it to be Cullen's daughter--yet who but a madwoman would bring a _child_ to a battle?

_Or,_ his mind whispered, _a desperate woman._

But desperate for what? Dorian simply could not make sense of it.

"Solas," the Inquisitor grated in a voice that was half sob, half groan, ignoring all others as she staggered past them to get closer to her goal. "You will stay. _This_ time, you will stay."

Solas' expression grew distant, and his tone held more than a little disdain. "And why is that, Inquisitor?"

With clear effort, the Inquisitor held the little girl in front of her, and Dorian's heart froze as he saw the way the child's head hung limply to one side. Surely even the Inquisitor wouldn't harm her own child, would she?

Even as Cullen stepped forward with mouth open and arm half-raised, however, her next words lashed through the air like a whip. "Because I have your daughter."


	8. Phase 8: Wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Major Character Death

The Inquisitor's words struck Cullen hard, and for a moment or two he fought for breath as the world darkened around him. A wave of despair rolled over him as a whole host of seemingly innocuous details suddenly coalesced into a whole: the Inquisitor's disinterest in him as a person _and_ a father, her consistent rejection of his attempts to make a family, and the assassination contract to kill him before she returned from the Conclave were all parts of a whole. She had never intended to make a family with him, only to use him and then discard him.

He wracked his mind, trying to think of any time the Inquisitor and Solas had spent alone together, and came up with precious little. Oh, certainly he'd accompanied her on the field, but so had Dorian and Bull both. Surely they would have noticed something.

_Unless,_ a little voice whispered within, _Bull and Dorian were distracted with each other._

He shook his head violently, rejecting not the notion of Bull and Dorian sharing a tent, but the idea that Solas felt something like that for the Inquisitor. The man's expression as he looked at the Inquisitor held little of affection, and Solas certainly didn't seem likely to rush forward and sweep the Inquisitor into his arms.

Yet, in the end, those thoughts proved fleeting. Cullen's eyes focused on his daughter dangling limply in her mother's arms, and the world seemed to contract around him. He felt hands catch and hold him, only then realizing that Dorian had prevented a complete collapse. Forcing himself to rally, Cullen struggled to his feet and took a step forward, hands clenched into fists, as he said in a strangled voice, "She is _my_ daughter."

The Inquisitor ignored him, her attention focused exclusively on Solas. "Think of it, Solas. You and I, Fen'harel and the Inquisitor. We would be unstoppable. We could change the face of Thedas!"

"Fen'Harel?" Dorian asked, obviously startled. "The Dalish god of all those wolf statues in Mythal's Temple?"

"Yeah, _and_ the guy who's been funneling all sorts of new agents into the Inquisition, too," Bull said.

That shook Cullen out of his reverie. "Is that why there's been so many elves joining the Inquisition?"

Bull gave a low, dark chuckle. "Done in one, boss." Before Cullen could think about what Bull meant by calling _him_ boss, the Qunari added, "Not that hard to infiltrate an organization when you're welcomed with open arms by the leader, though, is it?"

"Shut up!" the Inquisitor hissed, her first acknowledgment of them since she'd entered, then stepped towards Solas. "Please, Solas," she said in a wheedling tone. "Take your daughter. We're family now."

The word lashed at Cullen, reminding him of what he had once hoped to have with her even if there had been poison at the heart of it. That thought did give him pause, however, to wonder what she had offered Solas--and what, if anything, Solas had accepted.

Solas himself gave no implication of what he was feeling, though Cullen hoped that the lack of emotion meant an eventual rejection of the Inquisitor. "And if I acquiesce, we would return to Skyhold together?"

"Yes," the Inqusitor purred, in a tone Cullen recognized as her version of seduction. "The Exalted Council is a dog with no teeth, and the Qunari have failed in their attempts to weaken me. Even their own traitor didn't come running at their beck."

"You tell yourself that, _bas,"_ Bull muttered under his breath, then stepped forward. "Hey. Fade Walker. Tamassran takes Pawn."

A suggestion of surprise crossed Solas' face as his gaze shot to Bull for a split second. Then the surprise was gone, his expression falling back to neutral as he returned his scrutiny to the Inquisitor once more. Finally Solas stepped forward and took the child from her grasp, his touch gentle as he re-arranged the limp body in his arms. Cullen felt something tighten and die inside as he saw the way his daughter didn't respond, when normally she was so very inquisitive about meeting new people.

And, for the first time in years, he felt a prayer pass his lips. "Please," he whispered. "Not her. Anything but that." He felt Dorian's hand slip into his and gave the man a grateful look as he squeezed it like a lifeline.

After that, all he could do was stand and wait, feeling utterly helpless while his daughter's life lay, literally, in the hands of another.

A long, silent moment passed as Solas finished securing the child in his grasp. Then the elf raised his gaze to settle upon Bull, expression unreadable. "An odd time to resume our match, Qunari."

"How else will we know who wins and who loses?" Bull said with a grin.

The Inquisitor made a disgusted noise as her face screwed into a disdainful expression. "Just ignore them. We don't need--Ahh!" Her cry of pain accompanied a flare of bright green in her arm, and she collapsed to the ground in a fetal position as she curled around the sputtering glow.

Solas looked down at her, and his eyes flashed pale white for an instant. The glow in her arm died with barely a flicker, and Cullen heard Dorian gasp, "How--"

"I _am_ the Dread Wolf," Solas told Dorian, then looked down at the little girl in his arms as the Inquisitor, still panting from the pain, slowly pushed herself to her knees. "And these two are among those I expected to meet."

Cullen's heart constricted in his chest as he watched Solas' hand press against his daughter's forehead. When even that failed to spark movement in her, a wave of fear momentarily overwhelmed him. Surely even the Inquisitor wouldn't--

"You know I'm right," the Inquisitor said between grated teeth. "Together we could conquer the world."

"That is not what I seek," Solas said, and this time Cullen was certain he caught an edge of irritation in the elf's voice. "I have made my goals quite clear."

The Inquisitor scoffed. "Change the world, conquer the world, restore the world, what is the difference? The world will still be ours. That is what is important. We would control it _all._ Just come with me and we can make our reality supreme." Suddenly her voice softened as she crooned, "Is she not beautiful?"

Expression softening, Solas nodded. "The child is beautiful."

"And real," the Inquisitor insisted, pushing herself to her feet. "Right?"

Cullen looked to Dorian, and found in his expression a confusion equal to his own. Unsure of what to do, and cautious of taking any action which might result in further harm to his daughter, Cullen simply clung tight to Dorian's hand and prayed. Hopefully _someone_ would heed him.

Perhaps even the Dread Wolf himself.

"Yes. She is real." The words were spoken softly as Solas continued to stare at the child in his arms. Finally he hovered his hand over the girl's face, and his eyes flashed white once more. "And strong."

Cullen's heart leapt when the small body suddenly jerked and a small gasp echoed in the glade. Taking an involuntary step forward, he reached towards his daughter. "Is she--"

"Stay back," the Inquisitor hissed. "She doesn't need _you_ anymore. She has a _real_ father now."

"She is _my_ daughter," Cullen grated, tightening his hands into fists.

"As if _you_ could ever be a father to my child," the Inquisitor scoffed. "You were a convenience. Nothing more." She turned back to Solas, a triumphant smile on her lips. "Let us leave them. I'm sure we have much to do."

Though Solas did spare her a glance, most of his attention remained on the child in his arms. When tiny fingers reached out to explore the fur of the mantle around Solas' shoulders, a faint smile touched his lips. "I would imagine a fur mantle to be a familiar sight for you, _da'len,"_ he murmured. When the girl giggled in response, something shifted in Solas' demeanor, and he looked up at Cullen with an intensity in his eyes which belied the gentleness in the exchange with the child.

Cullen's mouth went dry as Solas crossed the space between them. When the Inquisitor protested, Solas' eyes flashed once more, and the Inquisitor froze in place, leaving Solas unmolested as he came to stand in front of Cullen.

"You have my daughter," Cullen said in a cracked voice before Solas could say anything.

"And if she is my issue?" Solas asked, though his tone and inflection gave Cullen no clue as to whether or not Solas believed that to be true.

"That changes _nothing._ She is my daughter," Cullen repeated stubbornly, holding out his arms in silent pleading. "From her first breath, I have devoted my life to her, and I will not let even a god take that from me."

Solas tilted his head as he studied Cullen's expression, and his pale smile returned. "I believe you, my friend," he said softly, then glanced at Bull. "Knight takes Pawn," he announced, even as he settled the girl into Cullen's waiting embrace.

For a moment, as Cullen hugged his daughter tightly enough to make her babble in good-natured complaint, the world was right again. He was vaguely aware of Solas moving to stand next to the Inquisitor, but Cullen opted to walk a short distance away for a private moment with his little girl. The words exchanged between the Inqusitor and Solas went unheeded, a faint buzzing noise in the near distance as Cullen reassured himself that his daughter was safe and whole. When her eyelids started to droop, his panic rose before an adorable yawn revealed that she was simply tired. With a smile, he let her rest her head on his shoulder, and in only a few breaths she fell asleep.

A strangled scream proved to be the trigger necessary to divert Cullen's attention once more, and his head whipped around to see Dorian and Bull standing in wary readiness, their eyes locked on the tableau before them. The scream hadn't come from them, however. Instead, he saw that the Inquisitor had fallen to her knees in front of Solas, who had a cold expression on his face as he jerked her left arm into a straight position.

"And now I will take this from you, Inquisitor," Solas told her. "Only I could have controlled it fully, but it is obvious that you can no longer be trusted with its power." As Cullen watched with wide eyes, Solas bent over the Inquisitor as he wove the fingers of one hand in a complicated yet decidedly curt gesture. A flash of light appeared in his palm, then sank out of sight, whereas the Inquisitor... Cullen's eyes widened as her entire forearm flashed with a bright green light which gradually faded, leaving behind nothing--not even bone--as the glow dissipated.

As Solas turned away from the Inquisitor, she moaned and reached out to him with her remaining hand. "No... Solas, _please._ It can't end like this," she begged, an edge of desperation in her voice.

Solas paused, then half-turned and looked at Bull. "Your move, Hissrad. Will you choose what happens, or let it play out on the board in front of you, guided by the hand of another? Are you ready?"

Bull took a deep breath and pressed his lips together, and it seemed as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders in the moment before he emptied his lungs with one explosive breath. "Benn-Hassrath takes Arishok."

As Cullen puzzled over the exchange, his weary mind trying to recall which Qunari pieces matched the ones with which he was more familiar, Solas lifted his chin as if in challenge. "You are certain?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I mean, everyone has to start somewhere, right?" And with that, Bull's gaze dropped to where the still dazed Inquisitor lay on the ground.

Acting on instinct, Cullen made sure his daughter was still asleep and could not possibly see her mother's brief struggle as Bull's hands closed around the Inquisitor and hauled her up against his broad body. His hand desperately covered tiny, innocent ears so that she would not hear what followed: not the muffled screams, and _especially_ not the sharp crack which heralded the end of the Inquisitor's life.

For a long moment, silence fell, occasionally interrupted by the rustling of leaves in nearby trees. Then Bull sighed gustily and opened his arms wide.

Cullen stared as the Inquisitor's body slid from Bull's grasp and sprawled lifelessly on the ground. Even as his hand rubbed soothingly on his slumbering daughter's back, he tried to summon up a shred of regret or sadness that the mother of his child was gone, and found nothing.

Nothing except a great sense of relief that the nightmare was finally over.

Solas broke the silence first. "It was the right decision, Tal-Vashoth. Never doubt that. I do not relish her death, but her ambition would have ended with the world in more chaos than even her death will cause."

"Doesn't make it easy," Bull muttered, seemingly unable to take his eye off the dead-weight at his feet.

Dorian moved to Bull and slowly pulled him away from the body, his voice gentle as he murmured, "It was the right decision, Bull."

Bull shuddered, but nodded. "Eventually I'll believe it. Just... give me a moment, all right?"

As Bull walked away, Cullen moved to Dorian's side. "Give him time," Cullen murmured. "There's a big difference between killing because you're told to, and killing because you choose to."

"I know," Dorian said softly, his face so grim that Cullen wondered when, exactly, Dorian had learned that particular lesson. Before he could think to ask, however, Dorian had already turned to face Solas once more. "And what now? We simply let you walk away, knowing what you intend to do?"

Solas clasped his hands behind his back, a touch of sorrow coming to his face. "Here and now, we are not enemies. Here and now, we worked together towards a common goal. Here and now, I would prefer to part as friends and former comrades, to ponder..." His voice trailed off as his gaze turned to Cullen, or perhaps to the child still asleep upon his shoulder. "To ponder what I have learned this day. I hope that you will do the same."

The words hung between them for a long moment as Dorian, fingers playing with the flickering amulet around his neck, stared at Solas. Finally he drew himself to his full height and stepped forward with hand extended. "Then here and now, let us part as friends."

Solas hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached out and shook Dorian's hand. "Until next we meet, Dorian."

Dorian smiled, though the expression held the same poignant sadness evident on Solas' face. "Until next we meet, Solas."

Their hands fell away from each other, and Solas turned his gaze once more to Cullen and his daughter. With a grave nod, Solas said, "Take care of her, my friend."

"With my life," Cullen swore. "Never doubt that."

"I will not." Solas turned to Bull. "You play an excellent game, Tal-Vashoth. Was this the outcome you sought when first you intercepted and modified the messages between the Inquisitor and myself?"

Bull chuckled as he crossed his arms again. "Nah. I was just being a good little Hissrad at first. Trying to sow dissent between enemy ranks. But then you caught on. I suppose I should have anticipated that."

A faint smile came to Solas' lips, though it disappeared just as quickly as it had arisen. "Indeed. I am glad my trust in you was not misplaced, as it was with the Inquisitor. Perhaps we will have a re-match sometime in the future."

Bull's smile faded. "I'll be waiting, Fade Bringer."

Without another word, Solas resumed his journey to the mirror. Whether his gaze dropped to consider the still body of the Inquisitor as he passed it, none of them saw, but his steps never faltered.

Once he had passed through the mirror, Cullen closed his eyes and let loose a pent up breath, then gently kissed his daughter on the head. "We should leave."

"Indeed." Dorian moved to Cullen's side and took his hand. "I suddenly have a fierce urge to cuddle my son."

Cullen smiled as he lifted Dorian's hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. "Perhaps he could meet his new sister?" Cullen suggested, heart pounding as he awaited Dorian's reply to his unusual proposition.

The corners of Dorian's eyes crinkled as he tilted his head and smiled, the happiness clear on his face as he murmured, "I think that a most delightful idea."

* * *

And so, hand in hand, they left the strange place behind the mirrors, after which Bull led them to where Varric awaited their return. Without hesitation, Varric invited all of them to join him in Kirkwall for as long as they wished, which they accepted--and they were not the only Inquisition refugee hidden away in Kirkwall's caravan that day.

A harrowed Josephine and subdued Leliana joined them, sneaking in with a wary air that spoke volumes about their state. Bull's grim pronouncement that the Inquisitor would not return was met with an equanimity which did little to conceal their relief. Their apologies to Cullen and Dorian were heartfelt, and Cullen felt a lingering sadness ease as he realized that not only was _he_ free, but so too were his friends.

As their carriage creaked along the road to the port where Viscount Varric's ship awaited them, Dorian and Cullen held hands and watched with a smile as Cullen's daughter played with Bull's horns and Dorian's son charmed Josephine and Leliana with his smiles and giggles. If not for the shadow in Dorian's eyes, Cullen would have called the moment perfect. Even with that shadow, it was more than enough simply to _be_ with him, especially after years of deprivation.

In the castle in Kirkwall, the Viscount and their friends witnessed Cullen and Dorian's vows of love to each other, and they all settled into a life of blissful domesticity. Their children thrived in their peculiar family of loving parents, two adoring aunts, and two sarcastic uncles (though one had only one eye). Sometimes they would wreak a little too much havoc in the Castle, and would accept a little bit of lecture, but those times were few and far between.

And, if a particularly horny man joined Dorian and Cullen in their bed on occasion, that was no one's business but their own.

Yet rumors from beyond eventually penetrated the high walls of Kirkwall, as rumors do, and all too soon the shadow in Dorian's eyes returned. He started sequestering himself in his laboratory, first for hours, then for days on end. His fingers seemed to always linger on the glowing white amulet around his neck, and grey touched his hair a bit more quickly than Cullen had expected.

As the rumors drew closer and closer, of rebellion and chaos led by a man who claimed to be a god, Dorian withdrew more and more, until finally Cullen found a note on the bed telling him not to worry, that Dorian would restore everything to rights once more. He would return soon, and everything would be better.

_Wouldn't it?_

**Author's Note:**

> As I said, this is an experimental style for me, so let me know whether or not you enjoyed it or not! I'd really appreciate it!


End file.
